


Feel a Little Love

by IsThereARealLife



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel/Dean Winchester Anniversary, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of hell, as usual, marriage proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4823918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsThereARealLife/pseuds/IsThereARealLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean did something stupid. Really stupid. More stupid than normal. Now Cas is hurting and Dean isn't sure he can fix it this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel a Little Love

**Author's Note:**

> based loosely on Ed Sheeran's [Drunk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2fOum_KWQU)
> 
> title also from the same song because i am a giant nerd :)  
> 

Dean throws his head back to down his fifth whiskey of the night.

“I hate it. I hate it, Donnie. It… what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… It’s bullshit. I shoulda died. I _did_ die, man. And I’m…” he lets out a self-deprecating huff. “I’m here seven years later and…” He shakes his head.

Donnie the bartender glances up from where he’s bent over mixing drinks for some other customers and asks, “Do I need to cut you off?”

Dean snorts. “You’d be surprised how truthful I get when I’m drunk, man. And nope, I plan to be stone cold drunk tomorrow morning too.”

Donnie still eyes him suspiciously and pours him a glass of water. Dean frowns but drinks it anyway.

 

Two hours later, Dean is still sitting on his usual stool and Donnie is wiping down the tables for closing. Dean moved once, to go to the bathroom. He made out with some chick on the way back, but it left a sick feeling in his stomach and he left quickly.

“Hey man, you gotta go, closing up now. You got someone to come get you?”

Dean just shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll… I’ll be right. I can drive.” He slides off the stool and rummages for his keys.

“Bullshit. You ain’t driving in that state.”

Dean stares at him blankly.

“Shit. Just wait here. I swear I don’t do this normally but you’re pretty regular so…”

Dean giggles a bit. “You said I’m pretty.”

“Yeah yeah, Casanova,” Donnie grumbles as he walks back into the main room flicking off lights as he goes. “You still got lipstick on your neck there.”

He grabs Dean’s arm and leads him to the door while Dean scrubs a palm against the sticky feeling on his neck. “Not Cas. Uh uh.”

 

Dean wakes up in the morning with sleep caked in his eyes and a pounding like a thunderstorm in his head. He blinks blearily and throws his legs off the right-hand side of the bed. The springs creak. Not his bed then. Did he go home with a woman last night? A dude? Turning back, the other side of the bed is untouched. Huh.

He can still feel the lingering effects of whiskey and that one… two? shots of vodka. He drops his head into his hands. God, what he wouldn’t give to be sober right now. It was such a good idea last night but… He rubs one hand over the back of his neck and feels it stick on the dried lipstick. God what has he done?

Right then, someone knocks and the door creaks open. Dean blinks. “Donnie?” Shit his voice is horrible.

“Yeah man. Here.”

Dean gratefully accepts the proffered glass of water. “Thanks. For last night too. I…”

“No worries man. You mentioned Cas a few times, I’ve heard you mention her before and I figured something…”

Cas. Fuck. He just. He left and… He shouldn’t’ve. He needs to go back. He needs to get back to the bunker.

“I’m makin’ bacon if you want something?”

Dean shakes his head. “No I gotta… I gotta go home. I… fucked up.”

“I’m sure things’ll work out. Sorry if this is too forward of me, I’m used to this shit, with the bar and all. But you sound like you love her a lot…”

“I don’t… I don’t think that’ll be enough for him this time.” He’s never enough for him. Of course not.

And before Dean even catches his slip, Donnie continues, “He, then. And you can try man.”

Dean nods along, but still doesn’t believe him.

 

Half an hour later, the Continental rolls into the driveway, a pissed-looking Sam in the passenger seat, Cas in the driver’s, face totally expressionless to the unfamiliar eye. But Dean… Dean can see the hurt and anger just barely suppressed, boiling beneath the surface.

“Dean,” says Cas coldly as he slides into the backseat.

“I’m sorry, guys. I—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” And Dean just shuts right the hell up and slumps against the window, trying and failing not think.

 

“What the _fuck_ , Dean?” is the first thing Sam says when thy both slide into the Impala. Dean navigates the car through the dust cloud left by the Continental and almost stops the car again.

“Really Sam? Now? Can’t this wait ‘till we get back?”

“No. It can’t.” Sam snaps. “I came specifically so we _could_ talk now, when you can’t run away or something.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, Dean. Stop. Just stop it. I have had enough. What the fuck did you do? He fucking… I didn’t see him at all after you left, but I heard him blasting Elvis extra loud, and I found this in the trashcan in his room this morning. The room, by the way, that he hasn’t used for over six months. There was a dent in the wall too.” He pulls a tiny, suede-covered box out of his jacket pocket.

Dean fixes his gaze on the road in front of him and sets his jaw. He doesn’t say a word, despite Sam’s pestering, for the rest of the drive. Those walls are made of brick…

 

Dean doesn’t see Cas for the rest of the day, and barely at all over the next few days either. Just in passing in the hall, or leaving the kitchen as the other enters. 

He’s lying in bed sometime around midnight when he hears a door down the hall open and close. Not Sam, he moved to the other end of the bunker several months ago after voicing complaints about the…noise…

So it’s Cas. Dean doesn’t know what scares him more, the thought that Cas might be coming to his room, or that he might not be.

Socked feet pad past his door, and a few minutes later, slide back. But they don’t stop. They don’t even hesitate.

Well. It’s probably done then. He knows now. It’ll never be the same. He’ll never fall asleep on Cas’ stomach again. He’ll never curl around Cas, back pressed to his chest, holding him close. Dean scrubs a hand down his face and reaches for the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Time to get drunk again. Time to forget.

 

It’s cold in the bunker. Winter is getting closer and he doesn’t have a body next to him in the bed to cuddle up with (fuck it, yes he fucking cuddles. Sue him.) But it’s also just the coldness Cas exudes. Tense and frowning, like he used to be, but back then he didn’t know what else to do. Now, it’s deliberate. 

Dean almost runs bodily into Cas when he goes to the library. It’s the closest they’ve been in weeks. He’s so close Dean can feel his breath against his face, his lips. He want to kiss Cas’ again. He can see the shock, and the now permanent sorrow and anger in his eyes, clear as day. Dean wants to say so many things. He’s finally right there and he wants to say “Hey Cas. Sorry Cas. Forgive me, please. I never wanted this. I just want to go back. Can we go back, Cas?”

But that isn’t what happens at all. He doesn't know why it happens, why he say it, but he's never been good at all this. “When you leaving me, then?”

And Cas’ face just disintegrates. No. No no no. Dean’s eye widen in horror at himself, but Cas is gone, brushing violently passed him down the hall. But not before Dean sees the water glistening in his eyes.

Fuck.

 

Dean burns his hand on the stove that night. It hurts like hell. Literally, actually, there were some years where they’d burn his hands in the morning and make him lug rocks or pull rope all day, heal them at the end, then burn them again the next morning and start it all over again. Where he found him. Where it all started. This doesn’t heal right away like that used to. He jumps around the kitchen shaking his hand and cursing. 

“Dean, are you alright?”

Cas. Cas is here. He must’ve heard Dean yelp. “Uhh… just burnt my hand on the stove.” He grimaces when he looks at the blistering flesh.

Cas approaches and takes the injured hand in both of his. Instantly, the pain is gone and the red fades almost as quickly.

He wants to protect Cas like this. He wants to hold on to him and never let him go, never let anything get to him. He wants to hold Cas’ heart like he’s holding Dean’s hands, keep it safe, secure. But he can’t. He’s already proven that all he does is hurt people, hurt Cas.

“Thanks.”

Cas nods.

He doesn’t know why he starts talking. He has absolutely no idea. He just has to say something. “I… this is why, Cas.”

Cas tenses up again, where he had softened at seeing Dean hurt. “Why what, Dean?”

“Why we can’t…” Dean sighs. “I’m no good. I can’t… There’s nothing I can do for you, Cas. All I do is hurt you, or do something that puts you in harm’s way. I can’t… heal you. I can’t do… I haven’t got anything. You know everything about me, you can tear me open, see right into me. But I can’t do that to you, for you. I’ve got nothing, man.”

“I don’t need that from you, Dean! I just need you! What you have, what you are, that is all I want.”

Dean just shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear this. He can’t hear it…

Cas continues stiffly, “It didn’t seem like a problem for you before. Seven months, Dean. Why did it take seven months to fall apart?”

“Because!” Dean shouts. “Because everything always always falls apart. And… and marriage, man. It’s so… concrete. It’s… There is so much going on. There is always some new threat to humanity. I’ve never even considered marrying anyone, not once. It’s not feasible in our line of work. There’s too much… And I’ve never been enough…” He adds quietly.

Cas drops his hand and backs away a little. “Okay, Dean. If that is… okay.” He turns and walks out.

 

Dean finishes cooking his mac ‘n’ cheese and slumps over the table to eat it, a beer sitting open nearby, ready. Cas walks in shortly after, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“I think… I think I need to go. For a while.”

Oh god. Fuck. “Okay.” Not what he wants to say, but what he needs to.

“I ah…”

“It’s okay, Cas. We’re not planning on going on a hunt this weekend, so maybe just… just call or something. Check in. Let us… let us know you’re okay…”

Cas nods jerkily. “I can do that.”

“Okay. Um. Bye… then…”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

 

Dean takes the rest of the six pack, a new bottle of whiskey, and his whole pot of mac ‘n’ cheese back to his bedroom. Sam’s out running or some crap. Dean heard the Continental rattle out of the garage a few minutes ago. He’s alone. He is truly alone. Again. As always happens in the repeating shithouse pattern of his shithouse life.

He drinks until he passes out. It’s only 10pm.

 

Sam the Asshole wakes Dean up at the crack of dawn, looking for Cas. “He left.”

“What, like…?”

“He’s gone, man.”

Sam doesn’t even bother trying to continue the interrogation. He sees the pile of beer bottles on the floor and decides that maybe for once, now is not the best time.

 

Dean struggles up a few hours later, unable to stay still anymore. Sam’s out again and the bunker is eerily silent. Though he hadn’t seen Cas around, there were always telltale sounds, little shuffles, doors opening, music, anything. Something that indicated another being occupying the same space.

It’s all gone now.

The silence, in his terrible sobriety, leaves Dean way too much time to think.

He’s not good enough. 

_Cas said he is though._

Cas was wrong. 

_According to Dean._

Why would Cas want him? 

_Who knows, isn’t that up to Cas to decide?_

But— 

_Cas wants him._

He’ll never be good enough.

_He wants Cas too._

He doesn’t deserve it. What if he fucks up again? All he’s ever done is hurt Cas.

_Doing this, pushing Cas away, that is what is hurting him._

He doesn’t want to hurt Cas. He doesn’t want Cas to be hurting. He just wants him to stop hurting.

_Then stop it._

But how?

_All he can do is try._

He can try.

 

He just wants Cas back.

 

It only takes five minutes for Dean to throw on a flannel and grab his keys. He’s out the door before he even realises he forgot shoes.

 

He speeds along the backroads. Maybe someone saw him. Maybe he can catch up. It’s only been twelve hours. Maybe…

He’s not even at Lebanon yet when he rounds a corner way too fast and almost careens into the back of a car parked on the side of the road.

He slams on the brakes and jolts to a stop before he recognises the car. 

The Continental.

Shit, what if something happened? What if…

Dean jumps out of the Impala and races around to the front of the other car. There’s no damage. So not a crash. And… shit, Cas is slumped sideways in the front seat.

No no no no no! “Cas!” He pounds on the window. “Cas!” Please. Please sit up. Please just get up. Oh god, oh—

Cas stirs. Thank fuck.

He blinks around, confused. Then he sees Dean at the window. Immediately, he sits upright, eyes wide.

Dean drops his head to rest on the roof of the car, breathing heavily.

“Dean?” Cas has opened the door now.

“I thought you were dead. I thought… you were just lying there and… God, Cas…”

Cas squints. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m…” He looks away. The words are all caught up in his throat like a parasite. That voice from before reminds him why he’s here, that this is his last chance.

“Because I need you, Cas. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. For everything. It was… it was too damn quiet there without you.” He swallows and closes his eyes to steady himself. The voice continues prompting him. “I’m gonna change, Cas. I can. I’ll do it for you. I… wait.”

A glimmer of fear flashes in his eyes as Dean darts away. That little box is still in the glove box in the Impala. He grabs it, almost hitting his head on the door frame as he goes and runs back.

“Yes. Cas. Yes. I’m…” He pulls the silver ring off of his right ring finger. The one that hasn’t been removed in years, and places it on top of the box.

Cas is still staring, mouth slightly open. Dean sniffs and discovers idly that he is in fact crying. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes to wipe away the tears. “Ask me again.”

It’s a gut-wrenching few moments before Cas reacts at all. Finally, _finally_ , the side of his mouth curls up just a fraction. 

“Do you know what day it is, Dean?”

Dean frowns slightly, puzzled.

“Uh, no?”

“September 18th. They always said seven was a lucky number…”

Dean huffs a laugh. “You nerd.”

Cas smiles too and leans in. Their lips meet tenderly, cautiously. And yeah, Dean’s crying again. Or maybe it’s Cas this time. Or both. The kiss doesn’t last long. Cas pulls back first, but just far enough that his forehead still rests against Dean’s.

“Marry me?” he asks with a tentative smile.

Dean grins back. “Yeah Cas. Fuck yeah.”

 

A year later, it’s not beer bottles strewn across the floor, nor whiskey on the bedside. Instead, champagne rests in a bucket of ice, and it is clothes strewn across the floor.

Sam accidentally walks by at some point, and runs away yelling about ‘noise goddammit Dean!’

Sometime later, when the ‘noises’ have stopped, Dean smiles across at Cas and whispers, “Happy Anniversary, Cas.”

“Happy Anniversary, Dean.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Just a thing for Dean and Cas' anniversary :)
> 
> If you like it, kudos and comments are wonderful. I love to know what yall think.
> 
> As ever, thank you to Ishita for being my best beta ([tumblr](http://www.stevelovesapplepie.tumblr.com) and [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomlesspit))
> 
> im on tumblr at [ismylifejustfantasy](http://www.ismylifejustfantasy.tumblr.com), come say hi :)


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